


gold won't ever comfort me

by the_other_lutece_sister



Series: propunk one-shots [10]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Smut, a very propunk christmas, propunk - Freeform, propunk gold au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: A Very Propunk Christmas! or, what if Sarah had signed the contract at the end of S.1 and ended up shagging Rachel?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaryAnnett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAnnett/gifts).



> happy christmas, sinners, hope you enjoy!

Sarah stared at Rachel across the desk.

 

“Are you serious? You expect me to come to the DYAD Christmas party?” Her tone was incredulous. Attend some ultra-fancy corporate party with the people who had enabled this whole damn mess? Besides, the rich made her itchy. She liked their money but she didn’t want to have to stand around making small talk in some fancy outfit while they all looked at her like she was some kind of science experiment. “No way.”

 

Rachel looked amused as she brushed some minuscule speck from her sleeve, nails flashing silver. Sarah felt the sudden prickling down her back as she remembered those nails digging into her skin. She shivered slightly, and shifted in her seat. Rachel blinked lazily at her.

 

“Yes. I _do_ expect you to attend, Sarah. As per our agreement. Are you telling me you didn’t actually _read_ the contract you signed?”

 

“Wha-?” The scowl on Sarah’s face was like a bruise.

 

Rachel gave a quick smile and recited, “Article 76; subsection vii: subject will make themselves available to DYAD upper-level management in such circumstances as they deem necessary. Failure to comply…” She was interrupted by laughter.

 

“Are you sayin’...” said Sarah slowly, “...that I have to go on a _date_ with you because you deem it _necessary_?” She snorted. “Why don’t you just take one of your guard dogs?” She shifted in her seat again, boot tapping against the floor.

 

Rachel shook her head, stood up, and walked around to where Sarah sat, trailing her fingertips along the desk surface. When she halted, she tapped one nail on the desk as she stared down at the scowling brunette.

 

“Because, Sarah, I doubt they would look quite as good as you in the dress I’ve picked out. It’s our size.” She arched her eyebrows. “Don’t worry. It’s black. I’m not forcing you to be _festive_.” She walked around behind Sarah, heels clicking. Sarah stared straight ahead, still frowning. A dress? The last time she had worn a dress, she’d been impersonating a dead cop. And -

Her train of thought was interrupted by a featherlight touch along her neck. She let out a tiny gasp as nails traced up and down, then fingers lightly grasped her throat from behind. She felt breath against her ear and Rachel’s low, steady voice saying,

“And because I _want_ you to be there.”

Sarah pressed her pelvis down against the seat, her jeans suddenly feeling even tighter. She didn’t know why her clone, her blonde, bitchy clone, had this effect on her. She hated it. The unbidden memory of Rachel’s fingers inside her made her bite her lip, even as she jerked her head away from those fingers now.

“Yeah, yeah, alright!” she snapped. “I’ll go to yer stupid party.” At least there’ll be an open bar, she thought. Small mercies.

  


                                                          ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

  


The dress was indeed black. It was leather. It was the most expensive thing Sarah had ever had on her body, (apart from Rachel herself), and she couldn’t stop running her hands over the fine-grained suppleness of it.

The afternoon had passed in a blur of beauty treatments and massages and hairstyling and makeup. Rachel had left her in a fancy hotel suite with a small army of beauty-makers, who had turned out to be not as stuck-up as she thought. Wrinkling her nose at the bubbles in her glass of champagne, she stared at the woman in the mirror and barely recognized herself.

The wild dark mane of hair had been tamed and straightened and it flowed smoothly over her shoulders. The usual smeared eyeliner had been transformed into elegant smokey eyes, emphasizing the golden-amber colour. They’d used an eyelash curler on her and Sarah had spent the entire time holding her breath, waiting for the metal contraption to rip an eyelid off. She’d sat, impatiently tapping her bare foot on the cold floor while they fiddled and fussed and cracked jokes about Cinderella being sponsored by one of the wicked step-sisters while painting her nails a metallic gold. She’d sipped her champagne, wishing it was bourbon, leaving a smear of deep, deep red on the glass.

At last she slid her feet into fine leather ankle boots that matched the dress, the heels low but still sharp, and made a show of twirling around in front of the mirror. The [ dress ](https://www.theoutnet.com/en-US/Shop/Product/Alexander-McQueen/Laser-cut-leather-dress/508766) was strapless, fitting tightly around her breasts and waist, then flaring out into a paneled skirt with laser-cut stylized flowers, ending at knee-length. The leather saved it from being too _pretty_ , and Sarah had to admit she looked damn good in it. Sheer black thigh-high silk stockings and knickers that seemed to be two bits of silk held together with ribbons completed the decadent feeling.

 

The band of artistes nodded in satisfaction.

“You look gorgeous, darling.” said one of them, as he grasped her waist lightly and spun her around again. “Go forth and eat the rich.” Another picked the case of champagne up, counting rapidly, and grinned.

“Christmas bonus!” she cackled as she passed it to one of the others, and air-kissed Sarah goodbye. They piled out into the hallway, and she was left alone.

She turned around in front of the mirror again. She had to admit, Rachel had chosen well. She’d half-expected to be forcibly dyed blonde and dressed in one of those prissy white things. Instead, she looked like a well-heeled rock star, wearing a dress like armor. Shaking her hair back, Sarah held an earring up to the light, then put the pair on. The large chunks of raw citrine had a comfortingly heavy feel. They were the only piece of jewelry provided - Rachel was controlling how she looked without even being here. She turned around, arching her neck to see her back in the mirror.

 

If she looked closely, she could just see the scratch-marks Rachel had left there.

 

                                               ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

 

The car had come for her at precisely eight pm, and was thankfully stocked with real booze. Sarah sipped on a top-shelf bourbon as she lounged on the luxurious back seat, watching people as they hurried to get home before the snow started again, her free hand rubbing back and forth over the leather of her dress, the leather of the seat. When the car pulled up outside the doors of DYAD, she took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then plastered a smile on her face as the car door opened.

Some guy she didn’t recognise in a tux offered his arm, saying “Miss Duncan is waiting for you inside, Miss Manning.” His eyes had widened slightly as he took in her face, but he recovered well, chatting to her first about the weather and then segueing into Disney films as Sarah found out he had a daughter Kira’s age.

 

Walking into the great hall where DYAD held their parties was like walking into a tasteful crystal ball. Silver and white and pale blue glittered in every corner, echoed in the huge Christmas tree in the middle of the floor. Massive windows reflected the crowds of people in their finery. Sarah imagined there was a split-second of hush as she entered, and she lifted her chin, picturing Rachel and the way she looked at people like they were lower than dirt. The sure knowledge of how good she looked helped.

 

They made their way through the crowd, Sarah finally spotting Rachel holding court near a window. As they drew close enough, she heard her speaking what sounded like Japanese to the small group of men in uniform evening wear. Rachel saw her over their shoulders, and for the briefest moment her eyes flashed. Then she finished whatever she was saying, gave a shallow bow, and excused herself.

“Sarah. How lovely to see you.” Rachel’s voice was warm and so was her expression and Sarah looked back at her askance.

“You been visited by the ghosts of Christmas past or somethin’?” she muttered.

Rachel tutted.

“Come now, Sarah. Morale is important in a company such as this, and we must all put on our -” her lips tightened for a moment, “- _happy_ faces.”

“Right.” Sarah nodded, glancing around. “Speaking of happy, where’s the bloody bar?”

Her escort spoke up. “Allow me, Miss Manning, Miss Duncan.” He had stepped back as Rachel greeted Sarah, but hovered as one waiting to be dismissed did. Now he seemed relieved to be of service that would take him out of Rachel’s immediate vicinity.

Sarah grinned. “Bourbon, rocks. Cheers.”

 

As he scurried away, Rachel moved closer and gave Sarah a long, slow stare from head to toe, and back up again. Her eyes held a hint of hunger.

“I’m impressed,” she murmured. “You look quite - presentable.”

Sarah laughed. “I look bloody _amazing_ , and you know it. Just what you ordered.”

“Mmm.” Rachel tilted her head and smiled with a self-satisfied air, like a cat before pouncing.

 

There was a beat, and Sarah wondered what Rachel would do if she kissed her, right now, in front of everybody. The clones were obviously an open secret here in DYAD, if she was permitted to attend a function of this importance, but would Rachel want people knowing exactly how... _close_ they were? Or was that the fun of it for her? Parading her dolled-up genetic identical around, seeing the contrast reflected in people’s eyes, using words like ‘nature vs nurture’ and ‘breaking the mold’, then whispering words of an entirely different nature into Sarah’s ears, behind closed doors, in bed, against the wall, that one time on the kitchen counter…

 

Sarah was brought back to reality by the tray being politely proffered in her direction. She blinked, and took the glass of bourbon, the heavy crystal cool in her hand. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, suddenly very aware that the silk of the fancy knickers was damp.

Rachel was still watching her, eyes saying she knew exactly what Sarah had been thinking about.

  


She raised the glass somewhat mockingly as she returned Rachel’s stare. The smooth blonde hair, the restrained make-up, the blood-red lips - all atop an ivory sheath, high-necked, with a heavy, intricately beaded collar that enclosed the base of her throat. Ivory stilettos, of course, and she still stood over Sarah. _Of course she wouldn’t put me in shoes the same height_ , she thought with a flash of anger, _god forbid she have to look_ up _at someone!_ The bourbon swirled around her mouth and burned her throat going down.

Rachel’s nails flashed as she tipped her martini glass, then set it down on another passing tray.

  
“Sarah,” she said, softly but clearly, “Follow me.” She turned sharply on her heel, and moved away, hips swaying subtly under the white dress. Sarah swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She quickly tipped what remained of the bourbon down her throat, then strode after Rachel, the boot heels making tiny _click-click-click_ noises on the shining floor.

The two women made their way down a corridor, then another, until Rachel stopped in front of a nondescript door, opening it with a passkey. It led into a surprisingly pleasant room - a wide black marble bench with an egg-shaped handbasin, an array of very expensive looking bottles full of lotions and hand creams and perfumes lined up against the huge mirror. There were a few armchairs that looked both comfortable and strangely rigid, huge flower arrangements on various stands,and a beautifully restored antique chaise lounge covered in red velvet. The red was the exact shade of Rachel’s lipstick.

Sarah looked around the room, eyebrows raised.

“This is the fanciest loo I’ve ever been in.” she stated, half-smirking as Rachel’s lips ever-so-slightly tightened at the word ‘loo’. There was another large mirror on the wall opposite the lounge. The walls were covered in glossy black tiles, and she could see Rachel reflected in them, a warped white column rippling across the surface. She glanced over her shoulder. Rachel was sitting on the lounge, legs crossed, heels pointed at Sarah. The white dazzled against the red velvet, and her lipstick seemed to be even redder than before, like fresh blood. Sarah moved towards her, something flashing through her mind about _magnetic attraction_ and _repelling forces._ She hated everything about Rachel Duncan. And yet. And yet. She moved closer.

 

Rachel reached out and grasped a wrist, pulling Sarah the last few feet. Her fingers fitted around like a cuff, while her other hand curled around the back of Sarah’s knee, fingers tracing a spiral up, up, up her thigh. The leather of the dress rustled softly.

Sarah tipped her head back, the length of her mane tickling her shoulder blades, making faint _mmm_ sounds as the fingers reached the lacy tops of the stockings, and barely glided along the bare skin there before making their way down again, then up the other thigh. Her skin hummed as Rachel ran her fingers further up, tracing the edge of the knickers, flitting over the damp silky crotch. Sarah jerked as a thumb ground down on her clit, and she gasped loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles.

“Look at me, Sarah.” Her voice was low, and commanding. Sarah raised her head with some effort, and looked down at Rachel through half-closed eyes, hazily wondering how she managed to look so composed when her fingers were. Doing that.

Rachel’s eyes moved to Sarah’s face, the half-open mouth, the fluttering eyes, and then to herself in the mirror opposite, lips curving in a self-satisfied smile. Even in the most opulent of surroundings, Sarah Manning would always be an animal, ruled by her base instincts.

It used to disgust her. Now she found it - useful, if not rather pleasing at times.

 

Her fingers grazed against the silk again and Sarah groaned in frustration, trying to find purchase and swaying slightly forwards, hands briefly coming to rest on Rachel’s shoulders for balance. Rachel’s hand flattened against her lower belly to stop her falling.

 

“Sarah.” she breathed. “Is there something you need?”

“Fuck...c’mon, Rachel....” Her voice was burning with frustration.

“Yes?” She moved her hand down a little. “Tell me what you want, Sarah.” A little more. She felt Sarah’s pelvis start to thrust against her hand, and she moved it away. Sarah let out a loud groan.

“Just...fuck me, Rachel!” She looked into Rachel’s eyes. “Please.”

“Good girl.” Rachel murmured. She stood, pressing herself against her clone, feeling the supple leather against her bare arms as she kissed her, still clasping a wrist in one hand while the other tipped Sarah’s head up. The kiss seemed to go on forever, Sarah felt like she was drowning in it, barely noticing as Rachel slowly turned her around so the back of her knees were against the lounge. Breaking the kiss, Rachel gave her a little push, and she fell back onto the red velvet.

“Oi!” she half-shouted, a flash of anger lighting her eyes. Rachel sat and ran her hands up Sarah’s legs, enjoying the silky feel of the stockings against her palms. She pushed the skirt up slightly, lifted one knee, rested it against the lounge back. She watched Sarah’s face the entire time, oddly fascinated by the similarities and the differences, how she let her desires and needs run rampant across her face, exposed. How had she managed to con so many people when what she was was so _obvious_?

Silver nails dragged down Sarah’s arms, leaving light red trails that faded. A hand encircled her throat, tightened for a moment, then spread along the jawline, gently but firmly moving her face to the left, so she was facing the mirror opposite.

“Don’t.” Rachel’s nails dug in for a second. “Move.”

Sarah stared at herself - against the lush background of the lounge, she looked like an old painting, the exposed skin of her shoulders and arms pale against the red and black, her face luminous,  Rachel at her side like some kind of angel in white. _Or a succubus in disguise,_ she thought, not for the first time wondering how exactly she had ended up _here_. Then Rachel’s hands reached up to undo the ribbons on her knickers and she stopped thinking at all.

 

During the car ride back home, images flashed through her mind, making her catch her breath, or bite her lip, or press herself down against the seat.

 

Her face, reflected, mouth gasping as Rachel’s fingers brushed against her slit, wordlessly begging for more. The loud moan that escaped her as those teasing fingers finally found their way inside, one, two. When Rachel had turned to watch their reflection, sharp eyes moving back and forth between her own visage, and Sarah’s, holding her mirrored gaze as she hooked her fingers upwards, Sarah shaking and moaning and grasping at the couch, at Rachel, at the air, as she came. The way Rachel had bared her teeth and said _again,_ and slid a third finger in, other hand gripping Sarah’s throat and turning her face up towards her own, the identical eyes burning into each other as a thumb pressed down on her clit, her body moving on its own as she came apart again, a multitude of multicoloured stars against her eyelids as her eyes shut involuntarily.

 

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, finding a few tangles at the back that she’d missed in her post-shag touch up, and grimaced. Still, thank christ Rachel hadn’t forced her to stick around and make small talk after...afterwards. She gulped down another bourbon as the car pulled up outside Mrs S’s house, thinking desperately _the last time this can happen we can’t keep_... then she saw the Christmas tree in the window and silhouettes moving about and then the curtain moved and Kira peered out. Her face lit up at the sight of the car and she waved.

Sarah forgot about everything except her daughter and she grinned and waved, forgetting that the car windows were tinted black. She startled as the door swung open, the driver bending to help her out of the car, then handing her an exquisitely wrapped box with a silver bow. The card read simply ‘For Kira’. Sarah stared at it. She recognized Rachel’s handwriting. She was sure the gift was something very expensive and very exclusive, a bribe of some sort, or an insult, and she had half a mind to throw it back at the driver, or toss it into the snow. But Kira had already opened the front door and was clapping her hands at the sight of her mum with a gift in her hands.

_Dammit Rachel. Merry bloody Christmas._

**Author's Note:**

> Back from the window  
> Everything’s subtle  
> Temporary sanctuary
> 
> Look through the window  
> Everything’s subtle  
> Tailored to fit, but nothing’s that simple
> 
> Gold, you will always come to me  
> With the power of deception  
> Gold won’t ever comfort me  
> The color of deception  
> The color of deception
> 
> Move closer  
> Subterfuge  
> Illusion’s there for all to see
> 
> There’s no one left to rescue me  
> Glass and stone, it cuts like a knife  
> And gold won’t ever comfort me
> 
> Gold, you will always come to me  
> With the power of deception  
> Gold won’t ever comfort me  
> The color of deception  
> The color of deception 
> 
>  
> 
> [white gold by ladytron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcSKhaQQvlQ)


End file.
